Page 78 of Secret Betrayals
Silent.
I stare at the floor where Tommy stood and feel the bottom drop out.
My mind is reeling.
How did we get here?
One of our own. A founding member. A man I grew up with. My Road Captain. Sold us out for money, pussy, and a child he created outside his marriage, outside his code, and this fucking brotherhood. I rake a hand down my face, fury boiling under my skin. This shit cuts deep. This kind of betrayal fractures a club, and the worst part?I let him in.Itrustedhim.
FUCK.
How the hell is this my goddamned life?
Twenty-One
Forgiveness is not something I was looking for until now. But is it too late?
When I was younger, I thought I was fucking invincible. Figured I could move through life without consequence, like every shit choice I’ve made wouldn’t catch up to me. I walked like the world owed me something and believed nothing could break me—not bullets, heartbreak, or betrayal. But that’s the kind of bullshit you believe when you’re young, dumb, and too full of ego to recognize how fragile life really is.
I used to think you shape your destiny minute by minute, day by day—like that gave me control. Like I could steer my life away from the wreckage I kept creating. What I didn’t realize was how those small regrets I buried—those tiny, quiet fuckups I thought didn’t matter—would snowball into the biggest mistakes of my life.
And now?
Now I’m choking on every one of them. What the fuck do you do when all the secrets come out? What do you do when the truth carves you up and paints you as the villain in your own story?
After church, I had to get the fuck out of there. Call me weak. Call me a pussy. I don’t give a shit. When your world falls apart from the inside out—when you're blindsided by betrayal from people you would’ve taken a bullet for—you need space. Breathing room. Time.
Time to fall apart.
A brother—someone I called family, someone who knew me since I was a kid—turned on us. Sold us out. And the woman I built a fucking life with? The mother of my daughter? A traitor. A liar. A damn spy planted in my bed, in my home, in my club.
Nearly dying wasn’t the hardest part.
Living with this? That’s what’s killing me.
I walked away because I would’ve burned it all down if I'd stayed. Every wall, every tie, every motherfucking thing. My rage is too big, my heart too wrecked, and my mind too clouded to lead like I’m supposed to. I needed time to scream. To break shit. To feel every ounce of fury and heartbreak ripping me apart. To drown in guilt, because that’s the truth of it—I did this. I let them in. I trusted the wrong people. I wasn’t paying attention, and that could cost me everything.
What do you do when your whole fucking life implodes?
What do you do when every mistake you've ever made becomes the wreckage you have to crawl through?
What do you do when the only person you have left to blame is the one staring back at you in the mirror?
You bleed.
You rage.
You survive… if you’re lucky.
But me? Right now, I don’t feel fucking lucky.
I feel like the fool who destroyed his own kingdom.
My phone’s been ringing nonstop since dawn. Calls. Messages. Missed alerts stacked like guilt, I wasn’t ready to deal with. But whenhisname flashes across the screen, I answer.
“Hey, Pop.”
“Son.”
